Chapter 11 Olivia #2
Inside, the fire snaps in its stone cradle, warm and alive in the hearth. Kursk stands at the map-covered table, shirtless and towering, tracing his thick fingers over the lines that could spell the end of his world… and mine.
His hair’s down, loose and dark and wild. He looks tired. Not in the way a man looks after work—but the way a soul looks when it’s carried too many burdens too far.
I set the blueprints aside, my fingers brushing his.
“You’re shaking,” I whisper.
“I am not,” he growls softly, but there’s no bite in it. Only weariness. Maybe something else. Something that tastes like doubt.
I step closer. The cabin is so small, and this moment is so big. Every inch of space between us feels like something we could lose if we wait too long.
I press my palm to his chest. “Then maybe it’s me.”
His heart thunders under my hand like war drums. He doesn't move away.
“You don’t have to be alone tonight,” I say, softer than I meant to. “Not with the world burning.”
Kursk looks down at me like he’s never seen me before—like I’m new and old, flame and stone. “Olivia…”
I nod once. “I’m sure.”
His eyes burn gold. And then, finally, he bends to me. Not like a warrior. Like a man who’s been holding his breath for too long.
When his lips meet mine, it’s heat and hunger, all fire and ash and something sacred under the skin. His hand cradles the back of my head, not rough, not gentle—just right. My body presses into his, instinct chasing instinct, my fingers sliding over the ridges of his scarred back.
I taste his breath. Feel the hum of his blood beneath his skin. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, his strength terrifying and beautiful all at once. We stumble to the worn couch, knocking over a mug of cold coffee in our wake, neither of us noticing.
He kisses me like he’s memorizing a language he may never get to speak again. I kiss him like I’m afraid this is the last night before the world ends.
His voice is rough in my ear. “You are… thunder beneath snow. Fire in the dark.”
“And you’re impossible,” I whisper, threading my fingers into his hair. “And I want you.”
Clothes become distractions. Words blur into sighs and low moans and the creak of the couch beneath us.
The only light comes from the fire, flickering against his jaw, his collarbone, the long curve of his shoulders.
My skin lights up where he touches me—my hips, my thighs, my ribs like fretboards under his callused hands.
I drag my nails down his back, and he growls like something primal. My name on his lips is both a question and an answer.
“You’re sure?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, my breasts. He moves slow, reverent. Like worship. His tusks graze my skin and make me gasp. I arch into him, thighs spreading to cradle his hips.
“Kursk,” I pant. “Please…”
His hands are massive, rough, but they handle me like I’m something precious. He strokes my inner thighs, thumb grazing my pussy—slick, needy, pulsing.
“You’re soaked,” he growls. “For me.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Only for you.”
He kneels between my legs, tongue tracing a path from my navel to the heat between my thighs. When his mouth finds my pussy, I cry out—sharp and raw. He licks me slow, deliberate, tongue thick and hot, flicking over my clit with just enough pressure to make my hips buck.
I grind into his mouth, and he holds me steady, growling against my skin.
“Gods, Olivia,” he mutters between strokes. “You taste like battle wine.”
I laugh. Then moan. My thighs tremble.
He eats me until I’m crying out his name, thighs shaking, back arched.
When I come, it’s like lightning—blinding, brutal, beautiful. He doesn’t stop. He licks me through it, drinks every drop.
Then he rises, eyes wild.
His cock—thick, dark green, ridged with veins—is already hard. Massive.
“Will I fit?” he murmurs.
“Try me,” I whisper, voice wrecked with need.
He lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing into my pussy. I gasp as he pushes in, inch by thick, glorious inch. Stretching me. Filling me.
“Olivia,” he groans, voice cracking. “You feel… like fucking fire.”
My nails bite into his shoulders. “You’re so big—so fucking good—don’t stop.”
He thrusts deeper. I cry out. His hips slam into mine. I take him. All of him.
He fucks me slow. Deep. Every stroke makes my toes curl.
“You are mine,” he whispers, each thrust harder now. “Mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I moan. “Fuck—Kursk—I’m yours.”
The couch creaks beneath us. The fire roars higher, like it’s feeding off us.
He kisses me. Brutal. Tender. Everything at once.
His cock pounds into me, hitting places no man ever has. I come again—screaming his name, shaking.
He follows. Roaring. His whole body trembling. He empties inside me, growling my name like a war cry.
We collapse together, tangled and slick and breathless.
“I don’t want you to go,” I whisper.
He pulls me close, his body wrapped around mine like armor. “I won’t. Not tonight.”
Outside, the wind howls louder.
From the shadows beyond the tree line, something watches.
But inside this cabin, there’s only us. And the fire. And the promise that this isn’t over.